Lucky or Cursed?
by cailiean44
Summary: Alex is now sixteen years old and still with the knack to get into trouble. When he mixes himself up with a Russian mobster, will a certain assassin be able to save him or will Alex again be a pawn in someone else's game?
1. Chapter 1

**Hey everyone! I'm trying out a new idea that I had though I don't know exactly where this will lead but I've learned to just go with it and let my creative juices flow. I'm debating on having Sarov in this story. I love his evilness and yet his need to be obeyed. Tell me what you think, but I know a certain Russian will definitely be in this story. I bet you guess who. Well, on to the story. If this idea is completely ridiculous, then I'll scrap it but I need you readers to let me know. **

**Disclaimer: I only wish I could come up with something so ingenious as the Alex Rider series. I have literary jealousy, which means I do not own these characters. I'm pretty sure that is self-evident. **

**ARARARARARARARARAR**

**Prologue**

The building sat isolated in the downtown district of Chicago, the city life just starting to appear as the sun began its decent. The smell of gasoline and garbage filled his nose, the hint of a breeze teasing in the humid air. He felt the knife in his belt, assuring himself it was there. If it came to a fight, he would be ready.

The shadow skulked to the side door of the warehouse, the look of abandonment apparent even as smoke rose from the pipe, gray swirls drifting effortlessly to the sky. There were no stars tonight; all the better for an operation.

Gently cracking the door open, his eyes took in the rusted machinery, broken lights, and dirty cement flooring. There was nothing of value in the main room, a football length at least. A perfect place for a covert meeting under the radar. Too bad it was not as secret as they believed.

He recalled the conversation he had overheard while on the plane landing in the windy city. All he had made out was that there was a meeting between two important, dirty figures tonight downtown. The minefield of forgotten warehouses was the only logical place for a meeting of such importance, or so he had bet.

He slid along the wall, its grimy texture rubbing uncomfortably against his back. His foot rubbed against a large metal container, the words fragile on the side. Placing a hand to the side, he found it cold to the touch. Placing that information to the back of his mind, he forged on, intrigued by the location and finding a cooled container in an abandoned building.

One door was shut in the far corner of the warehouse, light reaching from beneath.

_This is too easy,_ he thought, his objective to uncover what some nasty Russians were doing in Chicago within his grasp. Upon reaching the door, he could clearly hear what was being said, taking him completely off guard.

"I meet your two hundred, and raise you three." The thick Russian accent was unmistakable, even through the door. Another man responded, this time in Russian, the anger easy to pinpoint in his tone.

He bent closer to catch what was being said, having been working on his Russian for a few months. Before anything else was said, a hand snaked around his middle as a knife was pressed to his throat. Someone spoke into his ear, telling him to not make a sound. Another man came from the right, tapping lightly on the door.

Light flooded the warehouse as two burly Russians sporting Glock 19s went into combat mode. He knew it would do nothing to struggle, but he would not be taken; he had a perfect record of _living_ through every mission he undertook. He would not fail now.

Quickly sliding his knife from its holster on his hip, he jabbed at the man holding him, pulling the deadweight in front of him as the men started shooting. He noticed that they were aiming to disable, not kill, their shots heading for his shoulders and legs. Shoving the dead man towards the two in the room, he shut the door with his foot as his arm came up to deflect a blow from the third man. He was tall and heavily muscled, his face emotionless as he assessed the form in front of him.

The man attacked with ferocity, each blow powerful and direct. He knew he was outmatched against the older man and decided that running would be the best defense. Sending a roundhouse kick towards the man's middle, he sprinted to the nearest shelter, a wooden crate with the words USA Property printed on the side. He watched as the man straightened from his hunched position, recovering from the kick.

Muttering in Russian, he proceeded to pull out a Glock 23, used mostly by federal law enforcement officers and highly powerful in close range firing. He pushed over stacked crates, hoping for a response from the form huddled not more than 50 feet away.

Seeing an opening, he ran for the door, ducking and weaving between various machinery and wooden structures. Shots went off as he ran but none hit their target. Almost to the door, he fell into a rectangular crate, the same insignia printed visibly on the top. Clattering to the ground, rifles and various firearms fell to the cement floor.

Pushing the thought of Russians possessing American firearms away for the moment, he reached the door just as the man finished his magazine. The night air enveloped him as he ran, heading for the nearest street in hopes he could blend in to the crowd of downtown.

Never looking back, he faded into the crowd, his mission complete. American intelligence being shipped to the Russians was something he had not foreseen.

Technically, this operation was none of his business. But the fact that two Russians letting slip about a secret meeting in his earshot seemed too coincidental for it to not intrigue him. He had walked into what they had hoped would be a trap, but real business was happening in that warehouse, nefarious at it seemed.

Striding down the street, the only looks he attracted were from women in various states of dress, most having on little, causing him to turn his gaze to the ground.

The purr of a motor behind him caused him to slow, glancing in the windows to his right in order to catch the reflection. A sleek black car with its lights off followed a few paces back, matching his stride. Reaching a side alley, he sped into the blackness, his movement too spontaneous for the car to follow.

The mouth of the alley loomed before him. Upon gaining the side street, another black car halted directly in front of him. Choosing to return the way he had come, he turned only to find the first vehicle coming towards him. They had trapped him.

Guns drawn, they approached. One man stood out, his tailored suit ad authoritative attitude commanding.

"Hello, my name is Nikolea. I'm sure we will get to know each other well in the days to come but right now you need to come with me."

"Over my dead-" His words were cut off as he felt a feathered dart pierce his chest, his body going weak within moments. Two men approached to catch him before he fell, his eyes straining to remain open. The last thing he heard was an order for the men to deposit him the backseat of the nearest car. Then the world dissolved into an inky blackness.

**ARARARARARARARARARARAR **

Nikolea Ivanov examined his short, brown hair cut military style in his full length mirror, scrutinizing his appearance with a critical eye. He had changed out of his business suit, trading it for a Russian militant uniform. He had more maneuverability and could deftly handle his own if anyone got near enough to him through his body guards. Yes, this was the life he had created for himself and had succeeded in becoming one of the most connected men in the world. He had ties into SCORPIA, the Triad, CIA, MI6, he people on his payroll in all of them. Not much slipped through his network of informants.

He thought again of the boy in his possession, the trick to get him to the warehouse a ruse to stop him from interfering with the actual meeting. His half brother had warned him about the boy and he had been right; he was too much trouble for his own good.

He knew he could not just let the Rider boy go; he would just show up at some other point and make a nuisance of himself. He could give him to his men, their skills involving teaching a lesson to pesky kids unchallenged, but then again, he did not want the boy maimed. Besides, his half brother had threatened anyone who especially hurt the boy. This had surprised Nikolea at first but he had resigned himself to the fact that contract killers often had no rhyme to their reason. No, he had a much better idea for his troublemaker. He smiled to himself. This would not be pleasant for him at all.

**ARARARARARARAR **

Alex could barely see past the pouring rain, his body on autopilot. His arms ached with the cold and strain of unloading heavy crates from package trucks for hours on end. He had had no breaks, no food, and no shower since he had been shoved through the port security point, six hours of sleep the maximum each night. There was no way he could keep going, his body slowly becoming useless to him, not obeying his commands. The Russians who ran the port gained a great amount of entertainment from tormenting and jeering crude phrases at him. Lucky for Alex, he did not know that much Russian so the harsh words meant nothing to him.

The rain had drenched every part of him, his lethargy only enhanced by his soaked condition. The man in charge of keeping him working signaled with his gun to approach the tent that had been set up in the middle of the courtyard, ships lulling dreamily in the background. The teen almost thought taking a dive into the freezing water would be an acceptable strategy to escape but immediately dismissed the idea. He had been dipped in the ocean water the very first day in order to show him it was a useless route. He had been forced to withstand the icy water for twenty minutes, his thoughts turning from that course of action very quickly. The boss man, Vladimir, only smirked at Alex as the teen realized the futility of escape. He had often heard of people being forced to work to pay off debts but he doubted spying was a debt to be repaid with labor. More likely, it should have amounted in his death.

_Either someone has a wicked sense of humor, or someone halted my execution,_ thought Alex, his brain trying to push past the exhaustion and chills that coursed through his body.

As he limped his way to the tent, Vladimir's ugly grin grew wider. Alex noticed the missing teeth and silver fillings as he stepped out of the downpour and into the makeshift shelter.

"Prevet, little man. How goes the labor? I hope it's not to hard for you." The teen stared impassively, or as impassively as one could with chattering teeth, at the filthy Russian. When he did not reply, the man's face contorted in rage. "You will answer me when I ask a question, English boy, or I will cut out your tongue so that you will never speak again," he snarled, stalking towards Alex, gun in hand.

The blonde did not step back; he was too exhausted. Instead, he decided that placating the man would be the best course of action, especially with his precarious situation having no guarantees.

"It is fine."

The man's anger cooled, his face returning to the sneering mask he constantly wore. "Good, we will add more tomorrow." Alex inwardly groaned at his hopeless situation, knowing he had no control at all. He turned to walk away, thinking he was dismissed when Vladimir's voice halted his steps. "Oh, I forgot to tell you that the Boss will be here tonight to see how you are fairing. I know you would never say anything other than how well you have been treated." He raised his eyebrows, a silent threat to the teen that he was too ready to heed. He did not need more trouble, let alone more work.

"Good, we are on the….first page, as you would say."

Alex again turned to leave muttering under his breath. "It's 'same page,' idiot."

**ARARARARARARARARAR**

"I see that you are doing well, Nikolea." Cold blue eyes regarded the man in front of him, his half brother one of the most influential men in the eastern hemisphere.

"Dear brother, you know as well as I that I have everything I could ever need. You, however, still refuse to utilize all of the funds that not only I have given as a gift, but the finances you have acquired with your," he paused to let a smirk escape, "special talents."

"If I lived as you do, Nikolea, I would not be invisible, now would I?" The man let his icy eyes scour the library in which they were seated, vast windows opening up to the city below. The mansion overlooked much of Ukhta, his other mansion in St. Petersburg. This mansion was his dominant home, containing not only an Olympic size swimming pool but also a hanger for his private jet. The amount of money he wasted irked his brother vaguely but he did not linger on those thoughts; he had more important things to consider than what his relative spent his money on.

"No, of course not," he consented. "That would defeat the point of your existence, now wouldn't it."

He nodded, standing to his full height to browse the rows of books. He was not surprised when Nikolea interrupted his thoughts with the real meaning for this unexpected meeting. The men barely spoke to one another except the occasional get together. There had to be more than just catching up on his half brother's mind.

"There is a matter that is in need of your," he seemed to struggle with the right word but finally seemed to find it as he continued, "better judgment."

"Indeed? And what would this matter be that it has caused the mighty Nikolea to ask for help?"

"It seems I have come into possession of a young boy that I have no idea what to do with. I was wondering if you had any good way to fix my problem."

"You want me to kill the boy?"

Nikolea fairly jumped. "No, of course not. You yourself told me not to end his young life under any circumstances."

That sentence caught him off guard. "The boy would not happen to be Alex Rider, would it?"

"Why yes, who else have you given specific instructions not to harm? That is not exactly your style, my dear Yassen." He spoke as if it should have been obvious to someone such as Yassen Gregorovich. The assassin was tempted to smile to himself, a problem Alex most certainly was.

"What did you have in mind?"

"If I knew what to do with the brat, I would not have called you." He set down his glass of brandy and strode to stand before the tall blonde, his eyes reaching his chin. "I am traveling to Vorkuta tonight to oversee his progress. I'm sure my Russian friends have treated him most hospitably."

"Are you asking me to accompany you? If so, I do not think it wise for Alex to know that I am there."

"I can't keep him at the port working dawn to dusk. My foreman reported that he is completely and utterly defeated. Seeing your face may confirm the futility of his situation."

"You wish to use me?"

"Plainly speaking, yes."

"Fine. But I would like to know what you will require of me once we reach the port."

"That, my brother, is up to you." With that, Nikolea led the way out of the library, past the wealth and prosperity evident in each room, and onto the private jet that was ready to take off.

Once seated comfortably on the plush cushions, Yassen turned to Nikolea. "After Alex sees me, would you like for me to return to Ukhta?"

"No, I have a job for you but little Alex cannot stay at the port. If you have no objections-"

"No, I will not drag that boy across the country with me while on a job. He would only cause trouble."

"I'm afraid I have no choice but to insist. If not, I'm sure the foreman will happily let Alex perish or suffer at the least at the hands of the ruffians working at the port. But for your explicit orders, I would have just let the troublesome child stay there."

Dragging in an aggravated breath, the assassin calmed himself. His brother's manipulative nature tended to amount to jobs and inconveniences for him at every turn. But he put up with him, his many contacts useful in Yassen's line of work.

"You will be rid of him as soon as we get to Vorkuta. But I will warn you; I will not kill Alex Rider. If we part paths and he goes back to his life, he may very well show up again. I trust you will keep my wishes despite the trouble he may cause?"

Nikolea smiled cunningly as someone who had just bested their opponent at checkers might appear. "Of course, I will most certainly not kill the Rider boy. Most certainly not."

**ARARARARARARARARAR **

Alex saw the plane land on an airstrip not far from the security gates into the compound. His few minutes of contemplation earned him a kick in the back, joining the mess of past bruises and abrasions that marred him young body. He grudgingly went back to work, trying not to anger anyone else for fear he would collapse with the next hit.

A few minutes later, the gates were opened to emit two individuals, one in an expensive suit and the other in a more appropriate jacket for the weather with jeans. Both stopped to talk to the security post but Alex could not mistake what he saw.

The crate he was holding dropped from his numb fingers, his vision riveted to the figure standing in the pouring rain, blonde hair cropped short as always. He could almost feel the icy blue eyes roving the port, taking in every detail. This man was someone to fear, his presence emanating danger.

The men started in his direction. He could not tear his gaze away from the man who had caused so many problems in his life but had saved it in turn until the butt of the rifle Vladimir carried rammed into his back. The teen fell directly into a puddle of grimy water, his vision marked with white spots. A kick to his abdomen did not even elicit more than a moan from him, so exhausted and overtaxed were his muscles. He could not even fight back. Maybe that was their plan. Break him completely before they brought Yassen in. But what could the assassin possibly want with him now?

He took two more savage kicks to the face before the wealthy man beside Yassen halted Vladimir in his revelry, the curt Russian harsh even to Alex's ears. The pair stopped a few feet away from where he lay, having no energy to rise.

"Alex Rider, I have brought someone to see you. One Yassen Gregorovich."

**ARARARARARARARAR **

**So, I have no idea if that idea was any good at all so please let me know. If it is not worth continuing, then I won't. Alrighty, thanks for taking the time to read this.**

**Cailiean44**


	2. Into the Lion's Den

**I want to thank everyone who reviewed…it was all positive and made me happy to go on with the story. I'm trying to catch up on my other stories as well so hang with me. This is the second chapter and hopefully you all with like it just as much as the last one….anything italicized is Russian. I didn't want to put the actual Russian words and I knew how they would be spelled with English letters so just sound them out and you know a word in Russian! Okay so I'll get on with it. Any suggestions or what you want to see in the story, tell me because this idea popped in my head with no end in mind…**

**Disclaimer: I have no dibs on the great Alex Rider or any of Anthony Horowitz's characters. Depressing, huh?**

**ARARARARARARARAR **

The rain never stopped. Alex sloshed in the mud with his bare feet, the freezing drops like needles on his skin. He had no way of knowing how much longer he could go on but it didn't look like his slave drivers were going to let up anytime soon.

"_Bwestra_!" Quickly, quickly. Alex was tired of hearing that word, his body tired period. He lifted another box, his mind going to the day before when Yassen Gregorovich had come back into his life.

"_Hello, little Alex." _

_Alex only stared, muddy water running down his face in rivulets as he tried not to gawk at the man in front of him. Not that he didn't have a right; the man was supposed to be dead. The man standing beside Yassen looked uncomfortable in the drizzle, his expensive suit not protecting him at all from the heavens. He gave a small cough, a signal to leave the port. But Yassen did not turn to leave, speaking in quick Russian to the man. The man's frown deepened as he listened to what the assassin had to say._

_Alex had forgotten Vladimir as the man yanked him upright by the back of his shirt. With his rifle butt in the small of his back, Alex was forced to look both men in the eyes, his gaze defiant despite his want to give up. He would not be weak in front of Yassen. Seeing him only intensified his need to survive, to escape._

_Alex must have missed the interchange because he was prodded forward, following after the two men. He was led into a squat building with peeling wallpaper from years of cigar smoke. Forced to sit in a wooden chair, Alex glared hotly at Yassen and the man with him as Vladimir was asked to wait outside._

"_Alex, your reputation precedes you. I'm glad I was able to keep you out of the way in order to conduct my business." The man spoke with cultured English, his Russian accent mild and only added to his prosperous air. Yassen leaned against the back wall with his arms crossed over his chest, looking as though he was completely relaxed. The other man pulled his attention back, introducing himself._

"_My name is Nikolea. I know that you have met my half-brother, Yassen." Alex never would have guessed without being told, but after studying both men, he could see the slight resemblance, the cold eyes and strong jaw. Nikolea went on. "I assume you have been treated well here, Alex? Of course you have. I told my men to take good care of you." His smile was not friendly, more like a panther about to devoir its prey. "I'm sorry to inform you that you will not be staying here. I have some business to attend to and I need you to stay out of my way. Yassen here has offered to keep an eye on you until he sees fit." He turned to speak to Yassen in his native tongue and left the hut. Silence echoed in Nikolea's absence. Alex refused to break the tension, staring at the assassin with what he hoped conveyed his dislike of the circumstances. _

"_I can see that you are not thrilled with the coming events," Yassen commented, his voice as cool and calm as ever. When Alex said nothing, he raised a blonde eyebrow. "If you do not think it worthwhile to say anything, I will leave you here." Alex tried not to show the effect the man's words had, despair of being left in the port to work to death heavy in his chest. He saw the man shrug casually. "Fine, we will leave tomorrow. I have some things to plan, so I will allow Vladimir to entertain you until I come back." Then he motioned the teen to stand and exit the hut, following behind._

_Vladimir was waiting when they stepped outside, his rifle ready to cause more pain at a second's notice. _

_Yassen observed the man a moment, taking in the rifle. "It would be in your best interest to get rid of the rifle." He locked eyes with Vladimir and then left, simply walking back through the security point._

_Vladimir glared at the assassin's back but gave the gun to a passing worker, taking Alex by the neck to the crates he had been unloading before the interesting visit from Nikolea and Yassen._

"_Do not think that because he will be taking you away that you are safe, boy," whispered Vladimir angrily. "You will work through the night and if you stop for even a minute, I will beat you with my fist." He held up a meaty hand, dirt and grime marring the appendage. _

_Alex let none of the hopelessness show on his face as he began where he had left off, just thinking about one box at a time, one step and then the next. Anything more, and he would crumble._

Realizing he had stopped working, Alex quickly hefted the box onto his bruised shoulder, his muscles crying in pain. He felt himself slipping, having worked most of the night before Vladimir was tired of Alex dropping boxes and allowed him three hours of sleep. But that wasn't enough. Before he was made to start again, he was given a piece of bread and a cup of water. It did nothing to quench the hunger that attacked his stomach.

He had never looked forward to Yassen coming through the gate as much as he did at that moment.

He felt someone kick the back of his legs as they buckled, the box bursting open on the hard ground. Vladimir laughed as a man went by with a wicked grin on his face. Not only did he have to watch out for Vladimir's hits but the workers as well. They were paid and willingly working, well fed, and cruel. There was no reason for their abuse but it gave them all a laugh. When Vladimir stopped laughing, his gaze turned hard as he waited impatiently for Alex to rise to his feet. The teen pasted what he hoped was an impassive expression on his bruised face but he was trembling which was not consistent with an I-don't-care-that-I-am-getting-hit-around-for-no-reason attitude.

As he was placing the box on the back of a waiting truck, the gates to the port were opened, a black car pulling into the decrepit worksite. He felt his hair being taken in a vise-like grip, pain shooting from the cruel hold.

"I guess your friend decided to show up after all. You could always choose to stay here," growled Vladimir, twisting his hand to elicit a moan from Alex.

"_Nyet_," replied Alex sensing that there might be some hope after all.

He was pushed roughly towards the waiting car, men jeering and speaking in the harsh Russian tongue. Alex would not miss this place at all.

His mind went to his idiotic thoughts. How can staying with an assassin be better than this? Had he completely lost his mind that Yassen was a better alternative? He had tried to kill the man once, had failed.

As much as he hated to admit it, he would be dead right now if it wasn't for Yassen. And quite possibly by his half-brother's hand.

The black car loomed ominously in front of him, his anxiety finally gaining ground. He had no idea what Yassen had planned but he knew it would not be pleasant. At least he would be alive.

He saw Yassen through the windshield, his blank expression foreboding. He climbed into the front seat, not sure of what he was supposed to do. As the door shut, Yassen gazed into the rearview mirror and sped out of the port at a speed that made Alex nervous.

"Put your seatbelt on," commanded Yassen, his eyes never leaving the mirror. He did as he was told, the click loud in the silence. Despite the speed that Yassen was driving, the inside of the car was quiet, the hum of the engine minimal.

"Put these on." A pair of handcuffs landed in Alex's lap, a wave of uneasiness collecting in his gut. When he did not comply immediately, Yassen glanced over. One lift of his eyebrow made his hands move, clicking the cold metal around his bruised wrists. Anger surfaced, at being confined and thrown back into the lion's den.

"It is for your own good as well as your safety, Alex. I can't worry about what you are doing when I have a job to do." His gaze was on the road, his voice calm but firm.

"You are on a job?"

The assassin just nodded. Dread was all he could feel at not only his life being in Yassen's hand but knowing that the man he was with was going to kill someone. Soon.

"Do not think that you will be able to stop it. You are only here because Nikolea asked me to take you or let you die. But that does not mean that you are free to do what you wish."

"Is that code for 'You are my prisoner?'" Alex couldn't help the sarcastic comment from escaping his mouth.

"_Da_."

The car continued on the road, the cabin silent. Alex fumed at his predicament. How was he supposed to sit by and let someone die?

"You know that I can't just let you kill someone."

"You will not have the chance."

ARARARARARARARARAR

Nikolea sipped amber liquid from his goblet, his jet rising above the clouds. A man sat across from him, tall and lanky in a formal suit. They were on their way to a dinner with the minister of foreign affairs, as well as other prominent political figures and were conducting some business beforehand. Nikolea wanted to get this meeting over with so that they could part ways and he could be done with the man. Not only did he bore him, but Nikolea loathed being benevolent to people who annoyed him.

"So, is my shipment ready?" asked Nikolea dully, his attention absorbed in the gray clouds streaked with moonlight.

"I was only able to procure the majority of it, but I will obtain the rest quickly," explained the man with a hurried tone, hoping that the man in front of him would not look at this as a failure. He knew what failure brought in regards to Nikolea Ivanov.

"A majority? Will it be in my possession before the deal is to commence?" One raised eyebrow conveyed his displeasure at the news, the man's fate hinging on his answer and the gesture so much like his half-brother's.

"Of course. I told you it would be done and it will," answered the lanky man. His palms were sweating profusely and a drop fell into his eyes. Nikolea smiled. His effect on people always gave him pleasure.

"Fine. But if it is not there, it is your head." Ivanov dismissed the man completely, staring out the window and thinking through on his plans. Now that the Rider boy was out of his hair, he would be able to conduct business like normal. And after Yassen was finished with his 'assignment,' there would be one less obstacle he had to overcome.

ARARARARARARARARAR

A factory was haunted by shadows, the black figures dancing in the dim lighting. The hallways echoed the feet of two men as they slunk towards their target, masks over their faces. Russian security relied on brawn as opposed to technology, but the fear of running into someone urged them to hide their identities. They worked for one of the most powerful men in the world but whatever trouble they found themselves in was theirs to vanquish.

A radioactive hazard sign dominated a steel door, the thick layers of protection guarding one of the most dangerous weapons. Uranium was in short supply in the various nuclear plants around the _Rodina_, the Motherland. Most of them had been decommissioned but the supply was still there, stocked and ready to be stolen. Or as far as the men were concerned.

They had taken out five guards, the Russian made machine guns never having the chance to fire. Sleeping gas had eliminated three and the other two were unconscious and would be waking up with massive headaches and bruises to match. They had made it this far, there was no turning back.

Half-an-hour later, the men rode away with enough uranium to blow up a country, self-satisfied smirks marring their faces. Nikolea Ivanov would be pleased with the score, enough to close the deal as well as keep some of his own.

ARARARARARARARARAR

Nikolea smiled into the phone, a regal expression on his handsome features. The package was being delivered to his mansion in Ukhta, with a little something extra as a souvenir. What a day it had been.

His plane was headed back to his home, the dinner having ended abruptly when the Minister of Foreign Defense suddenly had a heart attack and died at the table….nothing to do with Nikolea Ivanov of course.

Yes, it was a good day indeed.

ARARARARARARARARAR

**Okay, so not much action but I need suggestions. I know where I might go in the near future but the end result is very…non-existent. So, if anyone has any comments they would be greatly appreciated. Hope you liked it!**

**Cailiean44**


	3. Oath

**Thank you to all the people that reviewed. It keeps me going **** even though it has been forever….**

**Disclaimer: (sigh) Still not mine…**

**ARARARARARARAR**

Nikolea smiled brightly at the cameras, his handsome face destined for every newspaper in this district. After being chosen as the deceased Minister of Foreign Defense's replacement, his plans seemed to be proceeding exactly as planned. No one could halt what he had begun.

The last player in his plan would soon be taken care of by a very skilled assassin. And Alex Rider was out of play. If the boy somehow figured out a way to dupe his brother and foil his plans, well, he had planned for that, too.

His smile widened. It always paid to be on top.

**ARARARARARARAR**

The board meeting was underway yet he didn't see Ivanov anywhere.

"He is a loose cannon! This Cossack character needs to be stopped and eliminated." One of the directors took his seat in a huff.

The man took a breath and regarded the angered director. "He has become a problem for SCORPIA in recent times. Does anyone have information that could lead to unmasking this troublesome assassin?"

The rest of the board gazed blankly at him, looking to him for answers and direction. After recent blunders with Alex Rider, the SCORPIA board had been elated to have a leader in which they could blame if things went wrong. He just happened to be graced with that position. And his second in command had left him to face the dogs alone.

"Although there is nothing substantial, a report of this Cossack figure being in Russia had surfaced. Whether he can be persuaded to do business has yet to be confirmed." The large man paused to let the information seep in. "However, another troubling event has transpired. The Minister of Foreign Defense was murdered and the government has implicated us. The problem has been dealt with as a whole, but certain parties still believe we were behind the assassination." He stared down all eight of the members. Blank eyes met him as he surveyed each individual.

Glancing down at the cedar wood conference table, he stood, his hands forming steeples on the surface. "If no one has information, we will go on with our meeting."

"Director-"

His dark eyes pierced the board member like knifes. "I prefer General Sarov."

**ARARARARARARAR**

The handcuffs rubbed already bruised skin. Alex glanced out at the window at the approaching darkness, contemplating what he would do when it came time for Yassen to 'complete his mission.' He couldn't let him kill someone but Yassen knew that Alex would not stand by and let an innocent person die. Alex just had to bide his time.

Turning suddenly onto a side road all but hidden by underbrush, Alex fell into Yassen, who in turn showed nothing. The road was not much of a road, leaves and sticks littering the ground. Trees hounded them from each side as they sped through the foliage. Ten minutes later, Alex found himself looking at a small, wooden shack. Trees crowded the little _dacha_ closely as if to shelter it from the rain and prying eyes.

They had arrived in a clearing after four hours of driving. The trees abused the cabin from every side, the stumps assaulting the house with the smell of pine.

The car purred and then went silent as Yassen opened his door. Alex had handcuffed himself on top of his seatbelt so just sat and waited for the assassin to appear. His clothes clung to him like a soggy skin and he could imagine the stain he had left on the fine seats.

His door unlocked and stood open for the chilly wind to enter. Alex shivered again as his cuffs were removed and he was instructed to walk towards the shack. With what little strength he still possessed, he stumbled to what he presumed was the front door. Only there was no handle.

His captor appeared beside him, reaching the door ahead of the struggling teen. An ordinary, and quite frankly very ugly, plaque was stationed by the door. Alex assumed the foreign letters spelled out a greeting, or in Yassen's case, a warning.

Yassen pressed the insignia underneath the lettering. A mechanical whir sounded before a keyboard slid out on a mechanical arm from under the paneling. Yassen typed quickly and then pressed his thumb to a small metal plate on the side of the keyboard. The arm retracted and the door opened.

Without a word, Yassen walked inside. Alex's first thought was to try and run. But in the woods, with no idea where he was, and going on foot, his resolve plummeted. He had no energy to make a trek through the woods at night. Besides, he had to stop Yassen from killing his target.

Inside, dim lights banished some of the shadows. He was guided to a room with a bed and Alex fell atop the comforter without blinking. His even breathing alerted Yassen who promptly picked up a phone.

"My job ends tomorrow. The boy will be transferred home directly after my job is done."

The voice on the other end sighed. "_Nyet_. That is not enough time. I need two days."

Visualizing his plan in his head, Yassen knew he could keep Alex out of trouble that long. However, the boy caused mayhem wherever he went and the assassin could not afford to have the boy draw attention to him. He was supposed to be dead, after all.

"Two days. Then the boy is free to do what he will."

He heard the smile through the phone. "I knew I could trust you with him." The line went dead.

**ARARARARARARARAR**

The council had adjourned for the day, but Sarov was taking his time with reports. Reports on his second in command. Who still believed Sarov had no idea about his plans to overthrow him.

It wasn't a problem; he had fixed many such problems. He was interested in who would do the job. His contacts had no substantial information on the assassin who Ivanov had hired.

Whoever this Cossack character was, he was very good at his profession. Hopefully they could turn him to their cause.

He picked up another file and started sifting through it lackadaisically before dropping it in surprise. Disbelief forced him to reread the papers from a dock by the coast. Surely it was a hoax; some cruel prank his second in command orchestrated. It had Ivanov's signature.

And yet no one would have known about this dark part of his history. No one.

Yet someone did. The file's information was clear. And it seemed his second in command was dallying in areas that could get him in trouble.

Alex Rider was in Russia, and Ivanov was in the middle of it all.

**ARARARARARARARAR**

Raw skin touched the cold metal as Alex once again tried to maneuver out of his restraints. This morning, he had been woken up unceremoniously, commanded to wash up, and was promptly propelled out of the house. Once on the road away from the little _dacha_, an explosion shook the ground as fire consumed what used to be a safe house. Yassen had said it was no longer needed.

Confounding as the man was, today seemed more confusing than anything he had experienced prior. It seemed as if Yassen was running errands, though not in the normal sense. They had slipped into a gun smuggler's shop, bought a new burner phone from a sketchy man in an alley, and now sat outside a beautiful woman's house. Yassen had been invited in. Alex was left in the car.

The clasp opened with a soft click. Relief washed through him as he gratefully threw them to the car floor. Why had Yassen left him in the car for over 20 minutes and with a pen to pick his handcuffs with? He had to have known Alex would figure it out.

Maybe the assassin was testing him. The blonde teen peered appraisingly out the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of something useful, like a landmark. Dilapidated buildings sagged tiredly along the dusty street. Old, dirty newspapers rolled and wadded themselves down the sidewalks and trash littered the corners. Wherever they were, it was not a place he wanted to be by himself.

Instead of running away like his instincts were screaming at him to do, Alex decided to surprise the assassin. He didn't know where they were and he was not going to just run around a strange city without knowing the language and with no resources. He would bide his time.

Thinking it wiser to enter from the back door, Alex crept around the small house, sturdy in comparison to those around it. The windows were high enough that it would be impossible to reach one without help from a crate. Rounding the back corner, the blonde slowly turned the knob so as not to make a sound.

Closing it tightly behind him, he failed to see the attack coming. Without warning, a knife found his throat as a hand covered his mouth. Yassen's hand. Danger lurked in his cold eyes.

"Well, what have we here? You haven't been holding out on me, have you, love?" A woman sauntered over to where Yassen still held the knife to the teen's throat. "Aw, Yassen, do put away that horrid thing. Let me look at our guest?" She trailed a nail down his check after the knife was removed as her eyes took in his youth. She looked impishly at the assassin. "Well, this is a predicament seeing as how you don't kill children." She smiled at the boy, evil lingering in her gaze. "I'm sure SCORPIA would love to have some new meat."

"SCORPIA? You work for them?"

Genuine surprise alighted in her eyes. "How do you know about SCORPIA boy?" In a flash, her own knife was pressed against his cheek as her hand snaked around his neck. He felt his blood pulsing through his veins, as real fear of this woman gripped him. Yassen had been standing back, letting the woman have her fun until she threatened him. He didn't show it, but his expression tensed and grew even colder.

"Catia, step away from the boy." His voice was not angry, but the emptiness was more dangerous. She must have realized that because she withdrew the weapon, patting his cheek patronizingly.

Yassen moved to stand between the strange woman and his captive. Catia reminded him of a cat on the prowl, sneaky and quiet.

"Is he a spy," she asked in her feminine voice, though anger could be heard just under the surface.

"_Nyet_," Yassen replied simply before pulling Alex through the small indoor porch to what he assumed was the living room. The furniture was clean and sparse, the house looking like museum no one resided in. No personal items; picture frames, handmade blankets, children's art. It had no character of its own. Alex could hardly believe the woman with so much spunk would have such a plain house.

"Thinking of redecorating," quipped Alex without thinking. His head snapped back from the slap he received as payment. Yassen had made no move to interfere.

"You hold your tongue while the adults talk about important things," she purred angrily, pushing him roughly into a chair.

Then he was ignored. Neither Yassen nor Catia spared him a glance as they picked up their discussion from before.

"They meet in a new, expensive building by the wharf. He says he likes to hear the water lapping during their meetings."

"Whose meetings?" They dismissed his comment.

"Is there a meeting tomorrow?"

"_Da,_ from what I know, they are trying to find a man named Cossack. He seems to be eluding them somehow. " Catia missed the look Yassen shot Alex's way as he opened his mouth to say he knew who Cossack was.

"Do you know why they are looking for this man?" Another glance Alex's way deterred any desire the teen had of defying Yassen and voicing his own opinion.

"They want him to work for them. I guess this man Sarov-"

"What?!" He couldn't help himself; that name brought shivers down his back. The supposedly dead man. Who it seems was still alive. The madman had captured him and tried to adopt him while trying to blow up half the continent.

Yassen wasted no time, grabbing his arm and shoving him towards the door without a word to their host. She looked flustered but she would have been used to such things as a spy.

He was bundled into the car unceremoniously, handcuffs clicking back in place. Yassen slammed the door and turned back to Catia still standing on the porch.

Alex could see they exchanged a few words before the assassin slipped into the car.

The car purred amidst the silent interior. Finally Alex could stand it no longer.

"Is it a different Sarov?"

Yassen had fixed his eyes on the road. The teen couldn't tell if the man was thinking how to put his answer or was choosing to ignore him for his disobedience in Catia's house.

"No," was all he said.

**ARARARARARARAR**

Sarov had given him orders to have the shipments ready to activate by the next day. Nikolea Ivanov's men were already in position to place the packages when the time was right. The uranium had been more than enough and there was plenty left over for any other projects he may have. All he needed now was another untimely death and for his brother to keep his half of the bargain. Then everything would fall into place, just as he'd planned it. He prided himself on, well, not being too prideful in his work. Yet this job seemed to need to be celebrated.

The pieces were in place, the traps were set, and the world was at his mercy. Somehow it seemed too much for one moment. He sipped champagne as he pondered what was next. He smiled. The world was on its way to being his playground. Nothing could touch him after tomorrow.

**ARARARARARARAR**

The next morning was cold and wet as Yassen roused Alex from yet another room in a hidden safe house. His had been free to roam around the house when they had arrived because there were no handles on the doors. The exits were all controlled by thumb print scanners. Aggravating, but Alex did not know where they were in order to leave anyway. Besides, he had to save someone's life.

After his shower and breakfast, Yassen prodded him into the guest bedroom. Taking out zip-ties, he motioned Alex to sit on the bed.

Alex stepped away, shaking his head. "I won't let you leave me here."

The assassin never wavered. "You do not have a choice."

Yassen was guarding his exit, the small bed the only furniture in the room. He had nowhere to go.

Alex was not about to plead with the assassin but he was desperate. "I want to go with you. I want to…to learn… from you," he managed to get out.

To his surprise, he received an eyebrow lift and then he was on his back on the bed, his feet being zip-tied together.

"I want to learn from you. Just like my father taught you. I need you to teach me, Yassen, to learn about him." His voice was soft but had a hardness to it. As much as he hated what Yassen did, he would rather be there to try and stop it then sit back and let it happen. And, Yassen was the last part of his father he still had. If he had to act like he wanted Yassen to train him, shouldn't he choose that over someone's imminent death?

His hands were trapped by zip-ties. "You are stalling, little Alex."

Struggling to get up from the bed, he was off balance and fell back. Anger and frustration at his situation and what he was about to do made his blood boil. Yet he knew it was the only thing he could think of to save that person's life, whoever they were.

"I swear on my father's life that I will come willingly with you to train." His father was the only person Yassen seemed to have cared about in a long time; his oath would mean something.

Anger flashed in the man's eyes. He studied his captive for long moments. Alex sat there, breathing slowly, hoping the assassin would believe him. He knew he was trapped by the oath no matter what happened now, and Yassen knew that too. But the skepticism in his eyes told Alex he thought it was a trick.

Finally Yassen spoke in a clipped tone. "I don't want to train you."

Confusion struck Alex as he gazed incredulously at the older man. "What? Wasn't that what you always wanted? For me to be your student and to teach me like my dad taught you? I am offering to do it; I swore!"

The assassin's eyes seemed to gaze right through to his soul. "Your oath will not save my target."

His chin went up. He had to keep fighting. "If I give you my word I will not try to escape, I will train with you, and try to do as you ask, all I ask in return is that you not kill this man."

Though his face gave nothing away, Alex could tell the assassin was weighing his words carefully.

Without another word, the assassin left the room. Alex sat in silence for a few moments before his anger led him to try once again to get up. As he struggled, the man strode in again, handcuffs in his hands.

"I will train you. But I do not trust you." The zip-ties were cut and replaced by handcuffs…again.

"So when do we begin?" He was not eager to train with Yassen and knew he could never kill someone. But the earlier they started, the less people who got killed.

He was pulled up and guided out to the waiting car. "After my mission."

**ARARARARARARAR**

**Was that too mean? Do you hate me for having Alex agree to training? Can any of you guess who Yassen's target is? It isn't that hard, I may have spelled it out for you lol. **

**Thanks for reading and please please please review. This story received a few good reviews but if it isn't worth it I would rather know now than after I am a few more chapters into it. Thanks to all of you that did review, it was encouraging. And sorry for the long wait. **

**Cailiean44**


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